


22 Drinks

by celestialnavigation



Series: 22 Drinks 'Verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Banter, Future Fic, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-30
Updated: 2011-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:50:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialnavigation/pseuds/celestialnavigation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt leans over a little and says, "You know, if this were a movie this would be the part where you'd say 'of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world you had to walk into mine.'"</p><p>Karofsky gives him a blank look. "What?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Wine

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into English available: [22 Drinks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/750060) by [Caritas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caritas/pseuds/Caritas)



> This fic is finished and the full thing is posted at FF.net. I'm reposting it here a chapter at a time instead of importing the whole thing because I want to fix mistakes I missed and make a few minor changes. Also, since I wrote it over the summer before season three started, this goes AU from season two.

"Please," Kurt says, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice. "I just want one glass of wine. It's real, I promise you."

The bartender looks sympathetic but shakes his head. "Sorry, kid. I've seen some baby-faced 21 year olds before but you look 14. No way this ID is real. Now get on out of here before I have to escort you out. And I'm keeping this," he adds, holding the ID card out of reach as Kurt grabs for it.

Kurt gapes at the bartender. "That--that's completely unfair!" He realizes how petulant he sounds and takes a deep breath, willing the angry squeak in his voice to go away. "Do I really need to get my dad to come down here with my birth certificate just so I can get one damned drink and my ID back? Because I will," he grits with as much haughtiness as he can muster.

The bartender just laughs. "You do that, kid."

"I...fine." Kurt whirls on his heel to execute a perfect flounce when he hears another voice.

"He's cool, Cole. We went to high school together. He's the same age as me."

Kurt knows that voice, although he hasn't heard it in a long time. He looks down the long bar and in the dim lighting he sees a large figure perched on one of the too-small stools, one hand clasped around a pint glass. The person looks over at him, although with the distance and lighting Kurt can't see his eyes. "Hummel."

"Karofsky," Kurt replies with equal neutrality.

The bartender looks back and forth between them a couple of times, then shrugs and pushes Kurt's ID across the bar. "What'll you have, kid?"

Kurt blinks. "Really? As easy as that?"

"Dave's good people. Don't push your luck. Wine, was it?"

"Yes. Your house white, please." The wine is quickly poured and slid across to Kurt, who pays and grasps the glass by the stem before looking at the stool in front of him, then down to the end of the bar where Karofsky is sitting. He sighs and picks up his wine, walking over to the seat next to Karofsky. He raises an eyebrow when Karofsky glances over at him and Karofsky gives a tiny nod. After hoisting himself onto the stool he takes a sip of his wine, which he can tell is awful even with his limited experience. No matter, it's become more about the victory than the actual drink. "Thanks," he murmurs.

"No problem," Karofsky replies. Then after a moment: "Next time get a better fake ID."

Kurt huffs a quiet laugh. "Maybe you should introduce me to whoever made yours." Karofsky flashes a brief smile. Encouraged, Kurt leans over a little and says, "You know, if this were a movie this would be the part where you'd say 'of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world you had to walk into mine.'"

Karofsky gives him a blank look. "What?"

" _Casablanca_? Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman? One of the greatest films ever made? Nothing?" Karofsky just keeps giving him that blank look. "Philistine," Kurt mutters. He thinks about it for a moment and realizes comparing himself and Karofsky to a star-crossed love story was not one of his smartest ideas. He's just grateful Karofsky has no idea what he's talking about and even more grateful the dim lighting hides the embarrassed flush on his face.

They drink in slightly awkward but companionable silence for a few minutes before Kurt can stand it no longer. "So, um...how have you been?"

"Okay."

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Still the scintillating conversationalist, I see. Fine, I'll do all the work. As usual." He rolls his shoulders and takes another sip of his terrible wine. "I'm wonderful, thanks for asking. I've been living in New York since three weeks after graduation. Rachel and I agreed it would be better to spend the summer living in the city and working so we wouldn't be like all the other terrified freshmen who didn't know where anything was once classes started. Tisch for her and Columbia for me, by the way. Rachel had to quit her job in the fall because she joined so many extracurriculars but I'm still slaving away at, of all places, The Gap, and you have no idea the PTSD _that_ induced the first week I was there. I like my classes but I haven't decided on a major yet. Rachel knows exactly what she wants to do; she wants to be on stage. I want to do _everything_. But now I'm home on Thanksgiving break and while my family is passed out in front of the TV watching football and digesting enough food to feed a small country for a year I needed a walk. I ended up here." He turns to look at Karofsky, who is staring back at him with a slightly dazed look in his eyes. "...Sorry for the word vomit," Kurt adds weakly. "It's become a habit after six months of living with Rachel. We actually had to institute Quiet Sundays because of, you know, all the talking."

"It's cool," Karofsky says.

"Oh, come on. I do love the sound of my own voice but you have got to work with me here. This is the part where you tell me how your life has been since June," Kurt prods, exasperated. "Are you going to college here or are you just home for break?"

"No college," Karofsky offers. "I worked all summer and now I'm at the police academy."

Kurt snorts, then claps a hand over his mouth at the indelicate sound. "Are you serious? You, a cop?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Karofsky says with an edge to his voice.

"I just..." Kurt waves one hand vaguely. "I mean, bully extraordinaire David Karofsky vowing to serve and protect? It's just giving me some cognitive dissonance."

Karofsky glares at him and for a moment Kurt wonders if he's going to get punched in the face. "Fuck off, Hummel. You know I stopped that shit. I thought we were cool senior year."

"Fair enough," Kurt acknowledges. "You did stop bullying. But let's not pretend we were 'cool.' We reached a shaky truce with the understanding that in a year we wouldn't ever have to see each other again."

"Yet here we are."

"Yet here we are," Kurt agrees morosely.

After a few more minutes of sipping their drinks in a silence more awkard and less companionable than the last, Kurt speaks up again. "Do they know? At the police academy?"

"Do they know what?"

Kurt gives him a knowing look.

"Nobody knows."

"Nobody? Not even your dad?"

"Nobody means nobody, Hummel. You, Blaine, and Santana know. That's it."

"David," Kurt starts but Karofsky holds up a hand.

"Drop it, Hummel," Karofsky snaps. "We're not in high school anymore. I don't have to put up with your lectures."

Kurt opens his mouth, then closes it. "Fine." He drains the last swallow from his wine glass and gets off his seat, his butt numb from the uncomfortable stool. "Well, thanks for the assist. It's been...something."

On his way towards the door he hears Karofsky calling out mockingly, "Yeah, this was a blast. Same time next year?" Kurt just ignores him.


	2. Martini

When Kurt yanks open the door of the bar and stalks in, he's almost entirely forgotten even running into Karofsky a year ago. He definitely doesn't remember Karofsky's parting shot. So when Karofsky turn towards the gust of cool air that came in with Kurt, they have identical looks of surprise on their faces. Neither of them say anything for a long moment then Karofsky barks a laugh.

"I really didn't think you'd show, Hummel. Thought you'd chicken out."

"I...what? I didn't..." Kurt stammers in confusion, feeling stupid because he can't get out a coherent sentence, before he suddenly remembers. " _Oh_. Right, because you said... No, this is...it's just a coincidence."

Kurt thinks he might see a brief flash of disappointment on Karofsky's face but he ignores it, too caught up in his own aggravation to care. The bartender - the same one from last year, Kurt remembers, although he can't remember his name - doesn't even want to see his ID this time, he just asks what Kurt'll be having. Kurt sits down next to Karofsky and orders a vodka martini, recalling the sharp, vinegary taste of the wine he had last time and knowing not to make the same mistake. He slams back a third of the martini in one gulp, shoulders finally unknotting a little as the alcohol hits his bloodstream. He feels Karofsky's eyes on him and looks over. "What?" he snaps.

"What crawled up your ass and died?" Karofsky asks mildly.

That just makes him more irritated. Picking a fight with Karofsky thirty seconds after seeing him for the first time in a year may not be smart but it would probably make him feel better. Leave it to Karofsky to ruin it by not letting his temper get the better of him for once in his life.

"If you must know," Kurt replies in his snottiest voice, "I learned today - an hour ago, to be exact - that I am going to be a big brother in about seven months."

He watches Karofsky digest this news before venturing a reply. "...Congratulations?"

Kurt shoots him a withering look. "Yes, Karofsky, I am obviously in a celebratory mood. Your grasp of emotional nuances is flawless as always. Break out the champagne." He drinks another third of his martini and wonders if brooding would be a good look for him or if it just makes him look vaguely dim-witted.

"So," Karofsky says cautiously, "is something, like...wrong with the baby? Is that why you're so upset?"

"What? No, that's not--the baby is fine. At least it is now," Kurt replies with impatience. "Look, my dad is 44 and he has a heart condition. Carole is not much younger and there are a lot of dangers with a woman her age having a baby. So many things could go wrong. Plus, my dad's garage is doing well right now but Carole is going to have to go on unpaid maternity leave and her income is important to the family budget and... _what_?" he hisses.

Karofsky is laughing so hard Kurt wonders if he's going to fall off the bar stool. He surreptitiously takes out his phone because if that happens he is definitely going to capture the moment for posterity. "Dude," Karofsky says when he gets his guffaws under control, "you are jealous."

Kurt gapes at Karofsky for a long moment before snapping his mouth shut then opening it again to yelp, "I am not jealous!"

"You really are," Karofsky chuckles. "All those reasons you gave for hating that your parents are having a baby? Total bullshit."

"Your face is bullshit," Kurt snarls childishly. "They're perfectly valid reasons."

"Yeah, but they're not why you're madder than a wet cat. You just hate the idea of not being Daddy's number one priority anymore. Now when you get a hangnail and need to call up your dad to cry about it he's going to be busy with diapers and late night feedings and shit like that. You've just been hit in the face with the reality of not being the baby of the family anymore."

"I'm older than Finn for your information. And I _don't_ call my dad over hangnails," Kurt says indignantly. He doesn't tell Karofsky that three weeks ago he spent twenty minutes on the phone with his dad complaining about how Rachel borrowed one of his favorite sweaters and stretched it out with her boobs. It was an amazing sweater and his dad was appropriately sympathetic but, still, Karofsky doesn't need to know any of that. He'd only laugh again and, Kurt decides, he really doesn't like Karofsky laughing at him.

"Not the point, Hummel. Let me guess: Finn's also in a snit about this?"

"Well...yes. We agreed this is a terrible idea."

Karofsky rolls his eyes. "It's not an _idea_ , you idiot. It's just a baby. Stop being a dick and be happy for your parents. And be happy for yourself while you're at it because you get to buy fashionable baby clothes. You'll eat that shit up."

Kurt regards Karofsky for a few seconds. "You seem awfully convinced you're right."

"Yeah, well, I was in your shoes the first time my mom said she was having another baby. I thought it was the worst thing that could ever happen to me. But I was seven, dude. You've got no excuse for being like this. Besides, babies are awesome. I've got six younger brothers and sisters. I've been there."

Kurt chokes on the last swallow of his martini. "Six?"

"And an older brother. Catholic," Karofsky explains. "Look, you come back here next year and if you still hate the idea of having a baby brother or sister you can spend as much time as you want insulting me. Deal?"

Kurt throws some cash on the bar to cover his drink and re-winds his scarf around his neck, thinking about what Karofsky has said. He hates it, but Karofsky has made some sense. Even a stopped clock is right twice a day, he reflects. "Deal," he finally says. "Next year."

When he leaves the bar he feels a little better. He's still not happy about the situation but he's no longer so angry he wants to...well, punch a baby.


	3. Vodka Shots

It's all Cole's fault, Kurt muses, that he's spending the evening after Thanksgiving dinner standing in an alley with his pants undone and Karofsky's hand wrapped around his dick. Cole, and that fucking "Gone fishing'!" sign. Seriously, who puts those up anymore?

"Seriously," Kurt had sniped when he met Karofsky standing outside of the bar and was informed that Cole had closed up the place for the holiday, "who puts those up anymore? It figures that the first time I come here when I can legally drink they're not even open."

Karofsky had just shrugged. They had looked at each other uncomfortably for a couple of seconds before Kurt had said, "You win."

"Huh?"

"My little sister is amazing," Kurt had sighed rapturously. "Her name is Emily. She's so cute and she adores me - Finn, too, but I'm pretty sure I'm her favorite - and she looks amazing in the clothes I bought her. And her laugh! If it could be piped throughout every country there would be world peace. So fine, you win."

Karofsky had grinned at him. "I don't like to say 'I told you so' but...nah. I fucking love to say that."

"Jerk," Kurt had grumbled without heat. "But I am a fair-minded person and we agreed that if I was right I could insult you all night. Turnabout's to be expected, I guess, so have it." He had melodramatically spread out his arms, closed his eyes, and braced himself.

"I have a better idea," Karofsky had said. Kurt had opened his eyes to see Karofsky pointing his chin at the liquor store across the street. "A bottle of vodka, that bench, and an hour of just chilling."

Kurt had laughed. "You're a cop and you want us to get drunk out of an open container in public? Wait, you are still a cop, right?"

"Yeah, I'm still a cop," Karofsky had said. "And we're not going to get drunk, Hummel. We'll be cool if we stay cool."

"Cool," Kurt had responded with an eyeroll.

At first it was perfectly innocent. They had traded swallows of cheap vodka and traded stories. Kurt had told Karofsky about college ("Last year I decided on music composition for my major. I love performing but creating is what I really want to do. I'm going to try to produce a show in which I do everything from writing, directing and starring down to making the costumes and finding all the props. And then I will promptly have my first nervous breakdown.") to living in New York ("I love it but it's like...see, Rachel is married to New York City. For her, this is it. But for me it's a passionate fling that I hope will turn into a friends with benefits relationship in the future. If I go to grad school I want to be a little closer to home. When I was in high school I couldn't imagine ever wanting to stay in Ohio. But now? I miss my family. I want to see my sister grow up.") to Blaine ("Blaine is a thoughtful, kind, smart, funny, handsome, delightful boyfriend...for someone else. We were such a cliche, Karofsky. When he decided to go to college in California we promised to be together forever. By October of freshman year our nightly Skype sessions had dwindled to twice a week. By Christmas break we parted ways amidst a flood of tears and kisses. It was all very tragic. It took some time but we were able to rebuild our friendship by the next summer. I'll always love him. He was my first...my first everything and nothing will take that away from us. But he's only my best friend now.").

Karofsky had told Kurt about graduating from the police academy and becoming a patrol officer ("My T.O. - that's training officer - was a total dick but he taught me a lot. Not a lot happens in Lima but I feel like I'm ready in case anything does. And my captain thinks I have detective potential. That would be awesome.") and what Santana was up to ("She fucking loves Santa Fe. She talks shit about how it's creepy that all the buildings look the same and she says she's developed an allergy to ugly turquoise jewelry but I can tell she's happy. Underneath all her Santana bullshit, you know? Brittany's visited her a bunch of times this year. I think she might move there soon. That would be cool for Santana.")

The pleasant evening had hit a snag somewhere after their fourth shot apiece when Kurt had hit that old touchy subject. "So...are you out to anyone else yet?"

"No," Karofsky had replied tightly. "Why is that so fucking important to you, Hummel?"

Kurt had thought about pushing it but he was too buzzed to really care. He had leaned his head against the bench and closed his eyes. "I don't care," he had said. "If you want to die a virgin because you're too scared to let anyone know you like men that means absolutely nothing to me." Karofsky was silent for so long that Kurt had wondered if he'd just gotten up and left. He had cracked open one eye to see Karofsky staring at him. "What?"

"What did you say?"

"All I'm saying is, if you're still having this ridiculous sexuality crisis maybe you should get laid and put to rest the question, in your mind at least, whether you are or are not a Friend of Dorothy. Either you enjoy it and end any doubts and maybe you'll feel comfortable enough to at least tell your dad, or you won't and you can go on to marry a lovely woman and have 2.5 kids. I mean, have you ever even touched a dick other than your own?"

Karofsky had given him an unreadable look for a long time before muttering, "Are you offering?"

And that, Kurt thinks, is how he ends up shivering a little from the cold air on his lower belly while Karofsky strokes his cock with a rough but firm hand. Karofsky is hesitant and his calluses scrape Kurt's skin in a way that's slightly unpleasant but if Kurt were judging the amateur handjob olympics he'd award Karofsky the bronze medal. Maybe the silver, he thinks, as Karofsky twists his wrist in a way that makes Kurt gasp and go a little weak in the knees.

Karofsky has one hand bracing himself on the brick wall as he jerks Kurt off. His breath is harsh in Kurt's ear and Kurt has one thigh wedged between Karofsky's legs. He shifts slightly and rubs his leg against Karofsky's erection at the same time Karofsky does that wrist thing again.

"David," Kurt sighs.

"Kurt," Karofsky groans.

They freeze at the same instant, making eye contact for almost the first time since this began. "That was weird," Kurt says weakly.

"Yeah," Karofsky agrees. "Whenever you call me 'David' you sound like my dad."

"And you just made it weirder."

"Sorry."

"We're just--" Kurt gasps again as Karofsky rubs his thumb over the head of his cock. "We're Hummel and Karofsky. We're like...we're..." he's finding it really hard to concentrate on what he's saying. "You're the Scully to my Mulder. It was also weird when they called each other by their first names."

"How," Karofsky asks as he strokes Kurt with a rhythm that is uneven and clumsy but really effective at bringing Kurt closer to the edge, "am I the Scully in this scenario?"

Kurt braces himself with one hand on Karofsky's chest, which he idly notices feels really nice. He pets a little and is distracted by the slight rippling of muscles under his fingers. "Right...see, I'm clearly the Mulder because I'm the true believer. You're the skeptic here. Therefore, you're the Scully."

"That right?" Karofsky challenges with a hard stroke that nearly makes Kurt's eyes cross.

"Yes," Kurt pants. "You're Scully. You need...you need to be convinced."

Karofsky leans forward. "Convince me, Hummel. Convince me right now," he breathes in Kurt's ear.

Kurt does. He convinces all over Karofsky's hand and his own stomach, laughing breathlessly the whole way through. When he gains control of his breathing and his wobbly limbs, he's still chuckling. "'Convince me'? Really, Karofsky?"

Karofsky looks smug. "It worked, didn't it?"

"And how," Kurt sighs blissfully, satisfied even with the discomfort of his come cooling on his stomach. He tucks himself back in his pants and zips up, then reaches for Karofsky's belt.

"What are you doing?"

"Um, returning the favor?" Kurt replies, confused. Karofsky just grabs his hand and presses it lightly against the crotch of his pants, where Kurt can feel a damp spot. " _Oh_."

"Yeah."

"So..." Kurt ventures hesitantly. "What's the verdict?"

Karofsky stares at him, then his lips quirk into a tiny, wry smile. "The verdict is: I am really fucking gay."

"The truth is out there," Kurt says solemnly. After a beat they both start laughing until they're wheezing and tears form at the corners of Kurt's eyes. Eventually they get it together and look at each other, awkwardness starting to set in. Karofsky looks away first, grimacing at his hand which is still covered in Kurt's come. He wipes it on the bricks but that just adds dirt to the jizz and Kurt starts laughing again.

"Okay, so...I need to get home and shower," Kurt says, because he has an idea that the slight awkwardness could turn into major awkwardness if he lingers.

"Yeah, I gotta clean off too," Karofsky says, a note of relief in his voice like he's thinking about the same thing. He turns away, then hesitates and turns back. "You wanna do this again next year?" He flushes a deep scarlet. "I mean, not _this_. Just the bar. Or drinks on the bench, whatever. It's like the third year now. Kind of a thing, you know?"

Kurt smiles. "Sure. Next year," he agrees.


	4. Beer

"I had sex with Blaine," Kurt announces after he slides into the booth. He takes a drink of his beer and shoots a challenging look at Karofsky. "The day after Thanksgiving last year, after I got done with Black Friday sales I went over to his parents' house and we had sex. I was horny, he'd broken up with his latest boyfriend, there was sex. Lots and lots of sex."

"That's...nice?" Karofsky replies.

"It was. No, it was amazing. You know how they say sex with an ex is so great? Totally true. Also, I've had sex with four other guys in the last year. All amazing. Well, one was...the less said about that, the better. The point is," Kurt says, waving his bottle for emphasis, "last year? That thing we did? It was just one of the many sexual experiences I've had in the past year and to be perfectly honest, it doesn't rank at the top of the list. No offense."

Karofsky just stares at him like he's grown an extra head. "Okay."

"Okay?" Kurt says. "That's all you've got?"

Karofsky sighs and ducks his head. He bites his lip. "No, Hummel. Look, I gotta tell you, what you just said is killing me."

Kurt stops breathing for a moment. "What?" he whispers.

"See, I've been thinking about last year every day. I can't get it - I can't get _you_ \- out of my head. It was...it was the most incredible experience of my life," Karofsky confesses, his voice hitching a little. "And...I think I might be in love with you."

Kurt sits back, stunned. "I...Karofsky," he starts. "I don't know what--" he stops and narrows his eyes as he sees a slight twitch in Karofsky's cheek. "You're teasing me," he says through gritted teeth.

Karofsky snickers. "Had you going for a second though, didn't I?"

"Shut up."

"Here's the truth, Hummel. That night I went to my apartment, got on Google, found Lima's lone gay bar, and three hours later I got myself laid. I've gotten laid a _lot_ in the last year. And let me tell you, in case you still have the tiniest thought that I've been pining for you all this time, I've touched, tasted, and been fucked by dicks a lot prettier than yours."

"Now you're just being mean," Kurt sulks, although he admits to himself he kind of deserves it for being so combative from the start, like he had something to prove.

Karofsky laughs again. "You'll survive."

Silence falls and Kurt idly picks at the label on his beer bottle, pulling back one corner. He recalls Rachel once telling him that peeling the labels off beer bottles is a sign of sexual frustration and his hands still immediately. "Sooooooo," he ventures.

"Hey," Karofsky says, "sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean it that way."

Kurt smiles. "Actually, I was thinking that _I_ made _you_ uncomfortable. I came in here with the intention of not avoiding what happened last year, to get any weirdness out of the way right off the bat." He grimaces. "I'm pretty sure I just made it worse."

"You kinda did," Karofsky says with a smirk. "But it's cool. I made it even weirder."

"This is true," Kurt acknowledges. The tension eases and Kurt finishes his beer. "Want another one?" He gestures to Karofsky's drink. "On me. Reparations for being such an idiot."

Karofsky grins but shakes his head. "I'm good. I have to work early tomorrow."

When Kurt returns from the bar and slides back into the booth he cheerfully says, "So, subject change! Let's talk about something that can't possibly turn weird. Like, the weather."

Karofsky shifts and avoids his gaze. "Uh...actually...There is something I wanted to talk about. It might get a little weird."

"No. No, no 'actually'," Kurt protests. "Why would you want to keep it weird?"

"High school."

"What about it?"

"...Do we need to talk about high school? You know, what happened? What I did?"

Kurt considers this for a long moment. "No."

"No?" Karofsky blinks.

"No," Kurt says, more firmly this time. "I seem to recall a pretty heartfelt apology the week before junior prom."

"I know but--"

Kurt holds up a hand. "I acknowledged your apology then, but I didn't accept it. Not really. I'm accepting it now. Look, can we both agree you were a complete jerk to me in high school? Not senior year because we spent that completely avoiding each other, but before?"

"Uh, yeah. Obviously," Karofsky says, a confused look on his face.

"And can we also agree you're sorry for it and you haven't done anything to terrorize me in five years? Or anyone else, hopefully. You haven't terrorized anyone else, have you?"

Karofsky shakes his head vigorously. "Fuck no, Hummel," he protests. "I'm not...I'm still not out, not really. But I haven't taken it out on anyone like I used to. I don't do that shit anymore. My anger management therapy now is the gym and the shooting range."

"Then that's that," Kurt says firmly. "I'm not going to pretend that what you did didn't screw me up for a long time, even after I came back to McKinley and you apologized. It had effects - lasting effects. I'm also not going to pretend that I will ever forget it. But I do forgive you. I could hold onto a grudge against you for the rest of my life but that doesn't hurt you, it only hurts me." Kurt tilts his head and regards Karofsky for a few seconds. "I can't order you to forgive yourself. That's got to come from you. Just know that I hope you let it go. I have."

Karofsky stares at him and clears his throat. He looks away, then back at Kurt. "I...thank you," he says simply.

Kurt shoots him a sunny smile. "Time for that subject change now?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely," Karofsky breathes with relief.

After an hour of light conversation about their lives, Karofsky tells Kurt he has to get home for his early shift the next day. This time they leave the bar together, hesitating outside on the sidewalk. "Next year?" Kurt asks, a little appalled at how hopeful his voice sounds.

Karofsky nods. "Next year," he confirms. He starts to walk away, then turns back with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I will be counting every single day, _burning_ with desire, _aching_ until I see you again, Hummel."

"Asshole," Kurt shoots back cheerfully.


	5. Whiskey

Kurt knows he's not the most emotionally intuitive person in the world. He thinks he can be kind, that he's got a good heart and cares about people, and that's not his usual egomania talking. He's just frequently oblivious at picking up on people's moods right away. So when he boosts himself into the stool next to Karofsky, he's a little proud of himself for noticing the hunched shoulders, the furrowed brow, and the way Karofsky clutches his shot glass so tightly his fingers are white.

He also notices that Karofsky doesn't look at him or acknowledge his presence in any way, even though Kurt stares at Karofsky for several long moments. "What's wrong?" Kurt finally asks.

"Nothing," Karofsky grunts, still not looking at Kurt. He slams back his shot and slides the glass across the bar where, Kurt belatedly observes, it joins a cluster of other empty shot glasses. Eight, Kurt counts, and even though Karofsky is a big guy eight shots of liquor is a lot.

"Clearly it's not nothing," Kurt tries again. "You're upset about something. What is it?"

Karofsky finally looks at him and Kurt is taken aback at how broken, how openly raw Karofsky looks. "I told you, it's nothing," Karofsky snaps, a wave of sickly-sweet stench Kurt recognizes as cheap whiskey rolling from his breath. "I'm sorry I'm not in the happiest fucking mood for you tonight, Hummel. Maybe you should go home."

Kurt cautiously puts a hand on Karofsky's arm. "Karofsky--"

"Don't push me, Hummel!" Karofsky shouts. For a moment Kurt is flooded with a sense of deja vu and he instinctively cringes away. Karofsky shakes Kurt's hand off with a violent twitch of his arm. "Back the fuck off!"

"No!" Kurt shouts back, the initial flash of fear quickly replaced by anger. "I don't know what's going on but you don't get to do this. When you're angry or hurt or scared, _you don't get to take it out on me_. Not anymore." In his peripheral vision he can see the handful of other patrons staring at them. "Not anymore," he repeats, quieter this time but no less angry. "Now," he continues after taking a deep breath, "you can tell me what's going on. Or, you can tell me again that you want me to leave and I will. I'll leave and I won't come back here." Kurt watches Karofsky, who stares dully at the scratched surface of the bar. Several minutes pass and he's just about to leave, taking Karofsky's long silence as all the answer he needs, when Karofsky says something so quietly he almost doesn't hear it.

"My dad's dead."

Kurt processes this then says just as quietly, "I--I'm so sorry. I know how close you were."

Karofsky chokes out a bitter laugh. "Not that close."

"I don't...I don't understand."

"I thought I had all the time in the world," Karofsky says bitterly. "I didn't...he never knew, Hummel. He had a massive stroke before he turned 50 and I never got to tell him about me. I knew, Christ I fucking _knew_ deep down he'd be okay with it but...I always thought I'd find the right time, that I'd _have_ time to find the right time. And now it's too fucking late."

Kurt takes in the wounded look in Karofsky's eyes, the slight trembling in his hands, and makes a decision. "Where are your keys?"

"What?"

"Your keys, Karofsky. I'm taking you home. You don't need to be here right now."

Karofsky looks like he's going to argue but he just sighs and fishes his keys out of his pocket. "How are you going to get back?"

"They do have cabs in Lima, you know," Kurt says drily.

"Whatever."

Despite the number of shots Karofsky had downed, he still has a high enough tolerance to stay upright and give Kurt directions to his apartment. Kurt is relieved; as he hovered by Karofsky's side out into the parking lot he had flashes of himself trying to carry Karofsky or driving around Lima aimlessly while Karofsky mumbled 'all these streets look the same' and he had to stifle hysterical giggles.

The drive doesn't take long and in less than ten minutes Kurt is unlocking the door to Karofsky's apartment, which is thankfully on the first floor. Karofsky may be upright but he's still unsteady on his feet and Kurt thinks navigating stairs would've been beyond his capabilities. He looks around the apartment curiously. It's small but neat, with hardwood floors, contemporary furniture in earth tones, and a handful of black and white family photos on the walls. Karofsky sinks down on the couch and Kurt takes the opportunity to do a little searching in the kitchen and bathroom. He comes back with a bottle of water and two ibuprofen.

"Bottoms up," he orders, holding out the bottle and dumping the pills into Karofsky's hand.

"That's what my last date said," Karofsky slurs with a lazy smirk before swallowing the pills and chasing it with the entire bottle of water.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Charming. Okay, so...liver and onions."

Karofsky stares. "What?"

"Rotten eggs? Roadkill covered in maggots? Dog poop on your shoe?"

"What the fuck are you babbling about, Hummel?"

"I'm trying to make you vomit. It'll make you feel better if you get it over with. Balut?"

"What is that?"

"Fertilized duck embryo. Blaine told me about it years ago. Fish left out for a week?"

"I'm not going to barf, Hummel. I just want to crash."

"Fine," Kurt sighs. "Then you go sleep and I'll stay here for a little while to make sure you don't drown in your own vomit."

"You're annoying, you know that?" Karofsky grumbles. He leverages himself off the couch after a couple of false starts and staggers into the darkened bedroom. Kurt hears the sound of Karofsky falling onto his bed and wonders if he should help at least get his shoes off. He decides it would be too intrusive and, after unzipping his own boots, settles onto the couch where Karofsky was sitting. He pulls out his phone, planning to kill some time playing games before he checks in about fifteen minutes to make sure Karofsky is still breathing.

Sometime later, Kurt wakes up to three sensations: he's freezing, his neck is sore from having fallen asleep in a sitting position, and Karofsky is shaking his shoulder. He blinks blearily at Karofsky, who he notices has changed into a t-shirt and sweat pants.

"You're not dead," he says blearily, then cringes because it sounds so insensitive to talk about death so soon after Karofsky's father died.

Karofsky just laughs. "No, I safely woke up before I hurled. Then I chugged some gatorade and brushed my teeth before I noticed you were still here. Did you know you were drooling?"

"I was not!" Kurt exclaims indignantly, touching his face to make sure. "What time is it? And why is it so cold in here?"

"It's a little after one," Karofsky says. "And I keep the heat off unless it's below freezing. Saves on bills."

Kurt springs up, alarmed. "Oh my god, my dad is going to flip. I'm 23 years old but when I stay at his house he still treats me like I'm 16. If I stay out this late without calling he gives me that disappointed look."

"It's cool," Karofsky replies, holding up Kurt's phone. "I texted Finn for you, said you were crashing at a friend's place."

"You texted from my phone," Kurt says slowly.

"Yeah? What's the big deal? I didn't read anything, just looked up Finn in your contacts and sent him a text."

"I really hope you didn't use any textspeak. Otherwise Finn will think I've been kidnapped."

"I'm not an idiot, Hummel."

"That remains to be seen," Kurt sniffs disdainfully. "So, um...since you're mostly sober now I guess I'll call a cab."

Karofsky stares at him. "I just said I told Finn you were staying the night at a friend's place. You can crash here."

"Really?"

"For fuck's sake. Now who's the idiot? Yes, really. Come on," Karofsky starts walking towards the bedroom, beckoning to Kurt.

Kurt stars at him, confused. "I...I can sleep on the couch, Karofsky. It's fine."

"As you've already discovered, the couch is not comfortable for sleeping and you'll freeze," Karofsky shoots him an irritated look. "I just want to sleep, okay? I'm not going to able to do that if you turn into a Kurtsicle overnight. Now stop being such a baby and get in the fucking bed already."

"With such sweet bedroom talk like that I can't possibly imagine how you are still single," Kurt snarks but he obediently follows Karofsky into the bedroom, which he's surprised to see has a nice furniture set in mission style. The bed is high and covered in a thick down comforter. Kurt's exhaustion wins out over his lingering discomfort and he almost breaks a hip peeling his clothes down to his undershirt and boxers before sliding under the covers.

"Ohhhhh."

"What?"

"Oh my god," Kurt breathes. "This is amazing. Why is it so warm? Oh my god."

"It's a heated mattress pad," Karofsky laughs. "You've never been in a bed with one before?"

"No. God, it's like magic. I am never leaving this bed again," Kurt sighs rapturously. He freezes, realizing what he just said but Karofsky just chuckles again. Kurt closes his eyes and burrows blissfully into the warmth of the bed and the softness of the pillows. As he listens to Karofsky climbing into the bed beside him and hears the click of the lamp switch off, he makes a mental note to pick up a heated mattress pad on his way back to his family's house tomorrow.

Kurt is on the precipice of sleep when he hears Karofsky say his name. "Hmm?" he replies drowsily.

"Thanks," Karofsky says quietly. "For, you know, watching out for me tonight. And I'm sorry I was such a dick to you before."

"You're welcome," Kurt replies. "And I know. I understand. It's just...it's not okay for you to use me as your punching bag. It wasn't okay in high school and it's not okay now."

Karofsky is silent for a few seconds. "You're right. And I really am sorry. If I pull that shit again you just need to walk away and never come back. Promise me that, okay?"

Kurt thinks about it. He doesn't know what this once a year thing really makes him and Karofsky. They're not friends, not really, but he realizes he's begun to look forward to seeing Karofsky for a few hours on a cold November evening every year. He even put it down in his calendar this year - _drinks with K - 8ish_ \- and he wonders if he'd really be able to walk away from it. If Karofsky hit him or humiliated him, sure. That was a no brainer. But being yelled at due to circumstances that would put anyone on edge? He's not sure if he could turn his back because of a few angry words that aren't even about him. If that were true, he and Rachel would have stopped being friends years ago. But he knows that what Karofsky is asking is important to him. "I promise," he finally agrees.

For several long minutes Kurt listens to Karofsky breathing in the dark. Slowly, he reaches one hand out and finds Karofsky's hand, which tenses then relaxes as Kurt gently strokes the back with his fingertips. "When I was 16," Kurt says, "I came out to my dad. But before that, almost a year before, I told my mom. I went to her grave and I told her I was gay."

Kurt hears Karofsky's breath catch. "It's not the same," Karofsky whispers.

Kurt shakes his head even though he knows Karofsky can't see it. "No, it's not. But it helps."

Kurt falls asleep to the feel of Karofsky's hand under his fingers.

When he wakes up, it's to the feel of Karofsky's hand resting warmly against his lower back and one foot pressed against Kurt's calf. It's just after dawn and there's enough light filtering through the blinds in the bedroom window for Kurt to turn his head and see Karofsky sleeping soundly, looking peaceful except for a slight worry crease between his eyebrows. Kurt is tempted to touch the crease, to see if he can smooth away that lingering tension with his thumb but he falls asleep again before he can give in to his urge.

The next time Kurt wakes up, it's bright in the bedroom and Karofsky is gone. He turns over and sees a note next to his head.

 _H-  
Had to go to work. There's coffee in the kitchen, clean towels and a spare toothbrush in the bathroom. Help yourself. The door locks automatically so just make sure you close it tight when you leave. Thanks again for everything.  
\- K  
P.S. Next year?_

Kurt dresses and calls a cab, deciding to forgo the shower until he gets home but he indulges in a cup of coffee. He re-reads Karofsky's note, which is characteristically terse, and thinks about how or even if he wants to leave a response. When he hears the honk of a horn outside he takes a deep breath and scribbles a simple 'yes' at the bottom.


	6. Interlude

Kurt checks his watch again. He knows he looks like a lunatic, swiveling his gaze between his watch, the clock on the wall behind the bar, and the door. Kurt hates that door, which remains infuriatingly closed no matter how hard he glares at it.

It's not like he and Karofsky had a set time for the yearly meetings. It had been around eight in the evening the first year when Kurt had walked into the bar and tried to order a glass of cheap white wine with a fake ID. Since then, the time has remained about the same but they've never talked about it, never set anything other than the date in stone. It's just that it's - he looks at the clock again - ten minutes after nine and Karofsky hasn't shown.

When Kurt had walked into the bar over an hour ago he'd been anxious, butterflies churning in his stomach. He can't in all honesty say he'd been thinking incessantly about what happened last year but he also can't say it never passed his thoughts. He thinks something shifted between him and Karofsky that night, something that went beyond their light banter in the previous years. He doesn't know what it means, or if it even means anything, but he was looking forward to seeing Karofsky again and maybe trying to figure it out.

Of course Karofsky couldn't be cooperative, Kurt thinks crabbily as he sips at his ice water and hears a phone ringing in the distance. That would be too easy, and nothing about his...relationship, he thinks for lack of a better word, with Karofsky has ever been easy. He also doesn't know how to contact Karofsky to find out what happened, nor is he sure he wants to take that step, to open communication beyond this once a year thing. It's already complicated enough as it is.

"Kurt Hummel?" he hears through his brooding. He looks up and sees Cole holding up the bar phone. "You Kurt Hummel?"

Kurt nods, confused.

"Phone call for you." Cole slides the phone across the bar.

Kurt picks up the handset gingerly, like it's going to bite him. "Hello?" he answers nervously.

"Hey, Hummel."

Kurt feels a flood of pleasure fill him, then a second wave of irritation. "Karofsky? Where are you? I've been sitting here--"

"I can't make it," Karofsky interrupts. "Something came up."

"Is everything okay?" Kurt asks, shocked at Karofsky's abruptness.

"Yeah, I've just got stuff to do tonight. Sorry."

Kurt clenches his hand around the phone. "You should know, I wasn't planning on coming back this year for Thanksgiving," he says, trying to keep his voice calm. "I've been traveling a lot lately and I took the redeye from Vancouver last night."

"Well, it's not like I could've told you not to come," Karofsky replies dismissively. "It's not like I have your number or anything."

"I...Karofsky, did I do anything wrong? Last year?" Kurt mentally curses the needy note that makes his voice waver a little.

Karofsky huffs a laugh. "Dude, not everything is about you. I've just got a life, you know?"

Kurt closes his eyes. He doesn't know Karofsky well enough to always tell when he's lying but he knows with certainty that Karofsky is lying to him now. In a way it's a relief. He'd wondered on and off all year what would be changed between them this year. Now he knows. He could push like he always does with Karofsky, but he realizes he doesn't want to. He thinks that also tells him what he needs to know, that he's become invested but he's not at a place where he's willing to fight for whatever messy quasi-friendship he and Karofsky have formed out of maybe a dozen hours in the last five years. It's a relief to finally let go of the low level anxiety he's been feeling all night, that he realizes he's been feeling periodically for a year. He's been building up something nebulous and terrifying in his head that he is sure now he doesn't want. He feels absurdly grateful to Karofsky for taking the decision out of his hands by blowing him off. "I understand," he finally says, absolving Karofsky as well as himself of any responsibility for what's been between them, past and present. "Happy Thanksgiving."

Karofsky's voice loses the cold, distant edge it's had for the rest of their conversation. "I---same to you," he says softly. He hesitates before adding an even softer, "Bye, Hummel." He hangs up.

Kurt is halfway back to his home before it hits him that neither of them said anything about next year.


	7. Margaritas

"I'm sorry. And I'm glad you came. And I'm really fucking sorry."

"You're an ass," Kurt responds tightly. Karofsky had been pacing outside the bar and the apology was the first thing he'd blurted out when he saw Kurt. "And you're an idiot. And you're an ass. Also, you look like a pervert lurking by the alley like that." He blushes a little when he remembers what happened in that same alley a few years ago and he's grateful the dim lighting outside hides his face. He sighs and purses his lips, glaring at Karofsky, who is staring miserably at his shoes. Kurt huffs in annoyance then, with another put-upon sigh, relents a little. "Fine. You're not off the hook but fine. But you're buying. I need tequila."

Inside, they settle at a table and Kurt eyes warily Karofsky over the rim of his margarita glass. "Do you want to fill me in?"

Karofsky fidgets, his hands rolling his beer bottle back and forth on the table, and looks uncomfortable. "Do I have to?"

"I didn't have to come back, Karofsky," Kurt points out.

"Why did you?"

Kurt glances away. "I don't know. I went for my usual post-Thanksgiving dinner walk and fully intended to go a different way but I wasn't thinking. I ended up here. I honestly didn't expect to see you here. Why _are_ you here?" he presses. "After last year..."

Karofsky's face reddens. "I was hoping to see you. I wanted to apologize for being such a dick," he mumbles.

Kurt tilts his head. "But you won't explain." He looks piercingly at Karofsky, who refuses to meet his eyes. He glances behind Karofsky and gets an idea. "Do you play darts?"

Karofsky looks startled by the sudden change in subject. "Um, yeah. Sometimes."

"Excellent." Kurt claps his hands together. "We'll play. Not the usual way, we'll just take turns throwing. Whoever lands farthest from the bullseye offers up a confession. It can be about anything - favorite guilty pleasure TV show, embarrassing dates,...the reasons for certain idiotic behavior in the past, perhaps?"

Karofsky snorts. "Okay, whatever. Let's do this."

It turns out they're pretty evenly matched, which pleases Kurt. He's played darts before and has decent hand-eye coordination but Karofsky's a cop. If he couldn't hit a target they probably wouldn't let him carry a gun. At least that's what Kurt hopes. After a few practice throws and some light trash-talking the game begins in earnest.

Kurt loses the first round. He clears his throat and says, "In sophomore year I had a crush on Finn."

"Everyone knows that, Hummel. I'm pretty sure even the International Space Station could see it," Karofsky snarks.

"I wasn't finished, Mr. Know-It-All," Kurt continues huffily, "what people don't know is that I also had a crush on Puck."

Karofsky snickers. "Really? I would've thought he was too rough around the edges for prissy little high school you."

Kurt nods, acknowledging the point. "As an imaginary boyfriend, absolutely. But the libido wants what it wants, Karofsky. I had many a masturbatory fantasy about Noah Puckerman." He sighs dreamily.

Karofsky takes this in then admits with a small grin, "Me too."

Kurt laughs out loud at that. "Puck would be so smug if he knew."

They play the second round and Kurt wins this time. He makes triumphant victory arms and shoots Karofsky a challenging stare. Karofsky thinks for a moment then says, "I told Azimio. About a year and a half ago."

"Really," Kurt drawls, raising an eyebrow. "How did that go?"

"Weird. Better than I expected. First he said we were cool, then he asked if I'd been sneaking looks at his junk in the locker room all those years. When I told him no, he wasn't my type, he got offended and asked what was wrong with him. Then we drank a six pack and watched the _Indiana Jones_ movies. He kept staring at me. I think he was looking to see if Harrison Ford gave me a boner." Karofsky shrugs. "We don't really talk about it but he knows and we're still friends."

Kurt blinks slowly. "That's...that's got to be the most surreal coming out story I've ever heard." He smiles. "But I'm happy it worked out."

"Yeah," Karofsky agrees. "After that I told my favorite sister, a few people at work. World hasn't ended yet." He shrugs again.

They play several more rounds, trading off confessions. Kurt reveals his worst date ("He wanted me to call him 'Daddy,' can you believe it? I couldn't kick him out fast enough. And then I couldn't talk to my actual dad for at least a week after that.") and that he moved to Cincinnati after a year of post-graduation travel ("I picked it because it's not that far from Lima so I can visit my family when I want. I was also thinking about applying to grad school at the Conservatory of Music but I don't think that's in the cards. I got a job finding and making costumes at a local theater and I've been writing and composing every spare moment I get.").

Karofsky tells Kurt about the one time he visited a glory hole during his crazy experimental phase ("It was fucking weird and I felt so gross. Took me like, _forever_ to come.") and why he decided to be a cop ("Like many things, it's all Santana's fault. That Bully Whips shit...I don't know, dude. It was supposed to be a front, just something to help us win prom king and queen. But it made me feel really good about myself, like I was making a difference, actually helping people instead of hurting them. It stuck with me and when I told my dad I didn't want to go to college and I wanted to apply to the academy he was cool with it. I think he was proud of me.").

Kurt gazes at Karofsky, who looks away bashfully. "I'm sure he was," Kurt says warmly. "I'm proud of you, too."

As Kurt drinks his way through his second margarita, his throws get more erratic. Finally he throws his hands up and laughingly says, "I give up. You are the undisputed darts champion."

"Oh no," Karofsky teases. "You can't give up now. One more round?"

"Fine," Kurt agrees after slamming back the rest of his drink. "But I am not responsible if my next throw takes out someone's eye." He grabs a dart and stands at the line, wobbling a little. Karofsky moves in close behind him and he shivers slightly when he hears Karofsky's voice low in his ear.

"Don't think about it too much," Karofsky says. "Look at the target, get it fixed in your mind, then close your eyes and just let go."

Kurt obeys. He relaxes his shoulders and takes a deep breath. "Close my eyes and let go," he murmurs, then he throws the dart. After he hears the thunk of it hitting the board he opens his eyes. "Bullseye," he breathes.

"I date a lot," Karofsky says quietly in his ear, still so close but not touching Kurt. "I hook up a lot. But that night...that was the first time anyone has ever spent the night. And you looked like you belonged there, in my bed. With me. I wasn't ready for that. Not with anyone but especially not with you."

"And now?" Kurt asks in a whisper, needing to ask but not sure if he wants to know the answer.

"You tell me."

Kurt turns around and looks at Karofsky, who for once is open, unguarded, not avoiding his scrutiny. "I have a boyfriend," Kurt finally says.

Karofsky swallows but still doesn't look away. "If you didn't?"

Kurt thinks how easy it would be to take that one step forward, to close that tiny gap between them. That one step would be the easiest. Then he thinks of all the steps that would come after that. He takes a step back and discovers that step is just as easy. It feels right. "I have a boyfriend," he repeats gently but firmly.

Karofsky only nods, like he'd been expecting this. He doesn't look upset or angry or even resigned, Kurt notes. He just looks relieved, like a burden has been lifted, like the act of simply telling Kurt why he disappeared last year was enough. Kurt's grateful for that; the last thing he wants, he realizes, is to hurt Karofsky. Kurt quirks a small smile. "We have terrible timing," he says with only a little regret.

Karofsky chuckles. "You could say that," he replies. "But maybe next year?"

Kurt studies him for a few seconds, taking in the relaxed stance and the warm sparkle in Karofsky's eyes. It's not the time, not now, and he knows they're both at peace with that. "Maybe next year," he allows, still smiling.


	8. Red Wine

When Kurt walks into the bar and Karofsky is nowhere in sight, his heart sinks. He'll wait fifteen minutes, he thinks irritably, but that's it. He's not Charlie Brown and he's certainly not going to let Karofsky be his Lucy with the football.

"Hey, you looking for Dave?" Cole the bartender calls.

"Um, yeah," Kurt responds, startled. "Did he call to say he'd be late?"

"Nah. He's sitting in the back. Told me to look out for a guy with ridiculous hair in pants two sizes too small."

"I--" Kurt starts indignantly, before he decides to save his ire for Karofsky. He quickly orders a glass of red wine and carries it to the back of the bar, where he finds Karofsky lounging on one of the overstuffed couches scattered around, his right leg propped up on a chair. There's a black cane leaning against the armrest. Kurt sinks down next to him and shoots him a wounded glare. "My hair is amazing, you troglodyte," he says haughtily. "And my pants fit _perfectly_."

Karofsky just snickers. "Hello to you too, Hummel."

Kurt rolls his eyes before relenting with a small smile. "Hi." He studies Karofsky for a few seconds. "You've lost weight since last year. And what's with the cane? You are too young to need one for real, I'm reasonably sure you didn't become a pimp, and, I'm sorry, you just can't pull off the hipster look."

Karofsky looks away and rubs the back of his neck. "Uh...work injury. It's temporary."

"Work injury?" Kurt asks curiously. "What happened? Did you fall out of a tree while rescuing a cat?" he snarks.

Karofsky's face reddens and he looks even more uncomfortable. "Uh...no. Not exactly. I, um...got shot."

Kurt is pretty sure he's the one who fell out of a tree and now he's dreaming because there's no way he actually heard what he thinks he heard. "You were _shot_?!" he screeches. He claps his hand over his mouth because he didn't intend to hit a pitch only dogs can hear.

"It's nothing," Karofsky insists. Kurt observes with fascination that even Karofsky's ears are turning red. "It happened almost three months ago. I just have to use the cane for a few more weeks."

"You were injured so badly you're using a cane three months later," Kurt says, still trying to process what he's been told. He takes a deep breath. "What happened?"

"I told you, it's nothing. It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal," Kurt insists fiercely. "You were shot," he says again, not as loudly but no less horrified than he was the first time he said it.

"Yeah, I was there," Karofsky jokes, his lips quirking in a rueful smile.

"It's not funny," Kurt snaps. "Tell me what happened."

Karofsky looks at him and Kurt stares back, not backing down. Karofsky grimaces. "Fine. It was on a call. Armed robbery, suspect still on the premises. I was also training a new boot - that's cop talk for a recent academy grad. I was on point, we both had our weapons drawn...long story short, there was a loud noise that scared the boot and he fired. The bullet ricocheted off the sidewalk and went through the back of my knee and out the front."

Kurt takes all this in, feeling a little light-headed. He starts to say something and has to cough around the sudden lump in his throat. "You...I don't..." He stops, takes a deep breath, and tries again. "Will you recover fully?"

Karofsky nods. "Yeah. I mean, mostly. I'll always have a limp and I'm not going to complete any marathons. That means no more active duty. But there's always work to find at desk jobs in the department and the shooting range wants me as an instructor." He picks at his jeans and Kurt notices the downcast look on his face.

"Do you want to work at a desk or be an instructor?" he asks gently.

"...Not really, no," Karofsky admits. "I want to do what I'd been doing but...I don't know how to be anything but a beat cop." He shrugs fatalistically. "It is what it is."

"I need to...I need more wine," Kurt says, gesturing at his empty glass which he hasn't even noticed until now that he had drained. He walks quickly to the bar and places his order, giving himself a few minutes to compose himself. When he returns Kurt sits quietly for a while, just listening to Karofsky's steady breathing next to him. "You were shot," he says for a third time, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice or control the slight shaking in his hands.

At first Karofsky looks like he's going to toss off another dismissive joke but he gazes at Kurt for a few seconds before he replies. "Hey, it's okay. I'm fine, Hummel," he says softly. "I promise."

Kurt shakes his head violently, horrified to feel the sting of tears coming on. "No, Karofsky, you don't get it. You were _shot_ and...and I--I didn't know. Not until _three months_ after it happened. Because we have this...this once a year stupid _thing_ and god, we're idiots and we've placed so many unsaid rules on whatever it is we're doing here that in all these years we've never even exchanged numbers in case of emergencies like, god, someone getting _shot_... and I should've known. I'm just saying, you got shot and I should have known. I shouldn't have found out three months later. You don't get it," he repeats, on the verge of hysteria.

He sees Karofsky staring at him, eyes wide, like he's grown a second head. He can't think of any other way to stop the flood of babbling that's pouring from his mouth. He knows if he keeps talking he'll start crying and that's unacceptable to him so he blindly, recklessly leans forward and kisses Karofsky. It's awkward in a terrible way because the angle is uncomfortable and Karofsky is like a statue against his lips and he almost pulls away, a stammering apology already forming in his mind, but then Karofsky surges forward and suddenly it's awkward in an amazing way. Kurt wraps one hand around the back of Karofsky's neck, tugging lightly on the soft curls his fingers thread through, and Karofsky groans quietly against his mouth in a way that sends jolts of desire shooting down Kurt's spine. Karofsky grabs his jaw and Kurt can feel a rough thumb stroking his cheek, the touch a curious blend of deja vu and new sensation that makes Kurt shiver.

Karofsky is the first to pull back. He touches his lips and looks a little dazed. Kurt would feel smug but he's pretty sure he has the same dumbstruck look on his face and he knows his lips are still tingling.

"Fuck," Karofsky says ineloquently.

"Yeah," Kurt agrees breathily. He touches his heart, which is racing, and his lips curve into a wide smile. "That was...I wasn't planning for that to happen."

"I should get shot more often," Karofsky cracks.

"That's not funny."

"Sorry," Karofsky replies, not sounding the least bit apologetic. He looks at Kurt, smiles goofily, and Kurt thinks it may be the most endearing thing he's ever seen. But then his smile fades and he looks away. "Look, Kurt...I..."

"Oh, god," Kurt says, his heart sinking. "Oh, my god. I am so sorry. I know you're not completely out and I just kissed you in public and...I'm just really sorry."

Karofsky shakes his head. "No, that's not...that's fine. You didn't...I'm not..." he takes a deep breath and blurts out, "Look, I don't want to lead you on or anything. I...I'm with someone."

Kurt blinks. This was the last thing he expected and he's not sure if he heard Karofsky correctly. "You? The king of casual hookups? You've got a boyfriend."

"Yeah," Karofsky replies, blushing a little. "We've been together about seven months now. He's great, Hummel. I think you'd like him."

"I'm sure he's delightful," Kurt says, more peevishly than he intended. "I'm sorry," he says more softly. "I'm happy for you, Karofsky. I really am."

Karofsky offers a fleeting smile. Even if Kurt is just imagining the regret he sees in Karofsky's eyes, he lets himself believe it's real. It soothes his wounded ego and it's better than wallowing in the embarrassment that threatens to overwhelm him. He clears his throat. "So, I...I'm really glad you're okay. But I should go now. It's getting late."

If Karofsky even thinks about pointing out that it's not even 10 he wisely keeps his mouth shut. "I understand," he says. "Will I see you next year?"

"Sure," Kurt says softly, with a smile he knows doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just try to not get shot in the next twelve months." He doesn't wait for a response, just whirls on his heel and leaves without looking back.


	9. Champagne

Kurt spots Karofsky the second he walks through the door. He also spots the guy sitting on a stool next to Karofsky, leaning into him and laughing - no, _giggling_ \- at something Karofsky is saying. The guy is actually twirling his hair with one finger, Kurt notes with disgust. Eyes narrowed, he slides silently into the stool on Karofsky's other side.

"Is this your boyfriend?" he inquires, his mouth close to Karofsky's ear. He's gratified to see Karofsky jump like a startled cat and whirl to look at him, eyes wide in shock. "Really, Karofsky, he's an _infant_ ," he observes, looking the guy up and down. "What are you, 18?"

"Kurt, what are you--" Karofsky starts.

"I'm 22, actually," the guy says. "And what the fuck is your problem? We were in the middle of--"

"I don't care, sweetie," Kurt interrupts silkily. He turns to look at Karofsky again. "Seriously, this is your boyfriend?"

Karofsky looks at the kid, then back to Kurt. "Uh...no. We broke up," he says. "I met..."

"Jamie," the guy supplies with a smile that is obviously supposed to dazzle but Kurt just thinks it makes him look deranged.

"Jamie," Karofsky repeats. "Right. He just say down next to me a few minutes ago."

"He's not your boyfriend?"

"No."

"And you just met him?"

"Yeah."

"Right. Okay." Kurt turns back to the guy, who's been watching the whole exchange and shooting Karofsky hopeful glances. "Go away."

The guy squeaks in protest.

"You're being rude, _Kurt_ ," Karofsky says tightly.

"You're right, _David_ ," Kurt replies, just as tightly. He locks eyes with Karofsky and doesn't look away as he says, with sugary sweetness dripping from his voice, "You have ten seconds to leave us alone unless you want to be wearing that disgusting concoction you've been drinking. _Now_ ," he adds softly. He steels himself, waiting for Karofsky to look away, to rescue this poor kid who didn't do anything wrong besides hitting on the wrong guy at the wrong time, but Karofsky keeps his gaze steady and Kurt hears a muttered "fuck this" from the guy and he knows they're alone.

Karofsky is the first one to speak. "What are you doing here, Hummel?" he asks, his voice tense.

"I thought that was clear. I came to see you," Kurt says.

"It's February."

"I have a calendar."

"How did you know I'd be here?"

"I didn't. I took some vacation time. I've been coming here for the last five nights. This is the first time I've seen you."

Karofsky blinks. "You've been wanting to see me again for almost a week?"

"No," Kurt says softly. "I've been wanting to see you again since Thanksgiving. I just didn't let myself try until a week ago."

"Oh."

"Did you really break up with your boyfriend?" Kurt asks, trying to sound casual but he knows he's not pulling it off very well.

"Yeah."

"When?"

Karofsky reddens. "Uh...a couple of weeks before Christmas. I--pretty much since the second you left last time the only thing I could think about was seeing you next year. It just...it wasn't fair to stay in a relationship when I wasn't really _in_ it, you know?"

Kurt nods. His heart is pounding and he feels like something is finally clicking into place but he has to know for sure. He doesn't want there to be any mixed signals or crossed wires this time. "Do you like me, Karofsky?" he says. It sounds more demanding than he intended but he doesn't care.

Karofsky huffs. "What is this, seventh grade? Should I fill in the correct circle?"

"Just answer the damn question," Kurt retorts and this time he fully intends the demanding note in his voice.

"Hummel, I have thought you were the hottest piece of ass I have ever seen since we were in high school," Karofsky says with heated conviction. "But I have _liked_ you since that night Cole closed the bar and we drank cheap vodka out of a bottle on the bench across the street. Giving you a handjob later was awesome, don't get me wrong. But sitting on that bench, just talking about our lives and shit, that was it for me. So yeah, I like you. You're a total pain in the ass sometimes but I wouldn't have you any other way. Is that what you want to hear?"

Kurt fights to keep a grin off his face and loses the battle. He can't even muster up a token protest at being called a pain in the ass, partly because deep down he knows it's true, but mostly because the rest of it makes him so giddy he can't bother feeling offended. He beams idiotically at Karofsky. He reaches out and takes Karofsky's hand, threading their fingers together. "'Thou and I are too wise to woo peacably'," he quotes.

Karofsky looks at their joined hands, smiling no less broadly than Kurt is. "What's that mean?"

"It means," Kurt says, scooting closer, "that we made all of this more complicated for ourselves than it needed to be. But it also means that, being who we are, it couldn't have been otherwise. However," he adds, "we've wasted enough time. I'm done wasting time."

"I am really, really cool with not wasting more time," Karofsky agrees. He leans forward and Kurt closes his eyes, moving to close the remaining distance between them but at the last moment he freezes.

"Wait," he breathes, opening his eyes. He pulls back just an inch, enough so he doesn't go cross-eyed trying to look at Karofsky.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Karofsky growls and the sound sends a tingle through all of Kurt's nerve endings. "What is the problem now?"

Kurt smirks and leans in again to whisper in Karofsky's ear. "If we're really going to start this, we are going to _finish_ it. And as much as I've come to love this place and consider it ours, we aren't doing that here."

Karofsky pulls back and looks at Kurt blankly for a few seconds, then understanding dawns. "Right," he says roughly. "We're leaving now."

Karofsky breaks all land speed records driving back to his apartment, only slamming on the brakes down one stretch of road. "Common speed trap," he explains. Kurt just nods, too distracted by anticipation to carry on a conversation. In just over five minutes Karofsky pulls into his lot and they both hop out of the car, practically racing each other to the door. Karofsky fumbles with his key but finally gets the door open, yanking Kurt in after him. As soon as the door closes Karofsky presses Kurt against it and Kurt arches up on his toes, meeting Karofsky's mouth in a searing kiss that burns away all lingering doubts, if there even were any left.

Their kiss three months earlier had been full of yearning and desire but in a strange way it had been chaste. They had both been holding back. This kiss, Kurt decides, makes everything that's happened in the past eight years worth it. All of the squabbling and the bad timing and the other relationships needed to happen so he and Karofsky could be here, in this moment, kissing each other like neither of them had been kissed before. It's hot and wet and messy. Kurt already feels a bruise forming on his lower lip from Karofsky sucking hard on it and he tastes the slight coppery tang of blood from biting Karofsky a little too hard and they're both going to have raw, chapped mouths for days if they keep at it like this and Kurt doesn't care. He feels amazing and he laughs against Karofsky's mouth, delighting in the joy of it all.

Karofsky's hands roam around Kurt's waist and down over his ass before grabbing Kurt's legs and pulling them up to wrap around him. Kurt clings to him like a limpet, nipping at Karofsky's neck then soothing the bites with kisses. He pulls back and gasps, "Your knee..."

"My knee is fine," Karofsky grunts, hoisting Kurt higher, holding him in place with one hand against his ass as he uses the other to grab the back of Kurt's neck and yank Kurt's mouth back to his.

Kurt whimpers, feeling like he could kiss Karofsky for days, but he pulls back again reluctantly. "While I appreciate the impressive show of strength," he starts tartly, "you really don't need to--hmph!" He's cut off when Karofsky kisses him again.

"I told you, my knee is fine," Karofsky says.

Kurt looks at Karofsky, who has an eyebrow raised, then he shrugs and goes back to trying to devour Karofsky's face. It's going great until he shifts slightly, causing Karofsky to bump into a table by the door. Karofsky staggers and tries to correct his balance but they both go crashing to the floor. Kurt lands mostly on Karofsky but he bangs an elbow sharply on the same table that caused it all.

"Ow," he says conversationally. He feels Karofsky wheezing under him and tries to get up but Karofsky wraps an arm around him.

"Don't you dare move," Karofsky pants. "Just...knocked the wind out of me. You okay?"

"Just a banged elbow. You broke my fall," Kurt sighs dreamily, cuddling closer and peppering Karofsky's face with kisses. "It was very heroic."

"I didn't fall on my sword, dumbass," Karofsky replies affectionately, bringing Kurt's mouth to his and trailing one hand over Kurt's chest.

Kurt's lips curve into a smile against Karofsky's. "Close enough," he murmurs. "Should we move to the bedr--oh!" he exclaims as Karofsky's wandering hand dips lower and palms his erection. "Okay, floor's good. The floor is amazing. I love this floor." Karofsky continues to rub him, using enough friction to send frissons of pleasure shooting all over his body but not enough to get him off. With more self-control than he thought he was capable of, he grabs Karofsky's hand. "Clothes. We're wearing way too many clothes. And by 'too many' I mean we're wearing clothes at all and that's completely unacceptable."

He and Karofsky look at each other for a couple of seconds before they both start scrambling out of their clothes. Karofsky's naked when Kurt is just unbuttoning his jeans and Kurt takes a few long moments to just look. Karofsky's body isn't perfect, Kurt thinks, not like the gym bunnies he sees all the time, but it's perfect for him. He stares and stares and he's pretty sure he starts drooling a little.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Karofsky cracks.

"Shut up," Kurt says fondly. "I've been wanting to get you naked for _ages_. I'm going to look as much as I want."

"Yeah?" Karofsky says, pinking with pleasure. "Likewise. So get on with it."

"Huh?" Kurt responds dumbly. He shakes his head. "Right, right." He slithers out of his pants and throws them somewhere in the vicinity of the couch before practically leaping back on Karofsky. At the first touch of their cocks sliding together Kurt groans and Karofsky throws his head back, knocking it against the floor. They kiss hungrily, touching everywhere they can reach and thrusting against each other. Kurt runs his hands over Karofsky's chest, loving the feel of the soft hair under his fingertips. Karofsky's hands smooth over and grip Kurt's ass, squeezing gently. Kurt feels a finger trail down his crack, not pressing in, just running up and down in a way that sends waves of desire surging through him.

Kurt breaks off their kissing to slide down Karofsky's body, kissing and lightly biting every inch of skin he can, until he's between Karofsky's legs. He sits back on his heels, taking a moment to just look again, his hands wandering lightly up and down Karofsky's thighs. He takes in the knot of scar tissue covering Karofsky's right knee, still slightly pink even after six months. He trembles a little, thinking about how differently everything could've gone, how he and Karofsky might have never gotten to this place. Bending over, he places a careful, reverent kiss on the scar. He feels Karofsky shiver slightly under the light touch and he looks up to meet Karofsky's gaze, which is full of understanding.

Banishing the dark thoughts, Kurt turns back to the reason why he moved in the first place. He grasps Karofsky's cock and strokes it firmly a few times but he doesn't just want to touch. Karofsky is watching him with a heavy-lidded look as he lowers his mouth, licking the head of Karofsky's cock before sucking it. Karofsky groans and Kurt pulls off, grins, then takes Karofsky's entire dick in his mouth until his nose is buried in hair. Kurt mentally thanks all the gods of sex that he and Karofsky waited until he was 26 to do this because he did not have these skills at nineteen.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Karofsky gasps. Kurt sucks harder, his cheeks hollowing out and his tongue running firmly up and down the large vein on the underside of Karofsky's cock. Kurt once had a boyfriend who told him his mouth was made for sucking dick and at the time he was offended at the objectification but now he finds it flattering because he loves sucking cock. It's pretty much his favorite thing about sex, besides kissing. He loves sucking Karofsky's cock in particular, he decides, and he hums happily. The vibrations make Karofsky groan even louder and Kurt loves the way he's making Karofsky feel. He works his lips and tongue and throat, swallowing hard around Karofsky's dick. His jaw is aching and he knows his throat will be sore for a couple of days but he doesn't care. Karofsky fists one hand in Kurt's hair and Kurt hums again, sensing that Karofsky is close, but Karofsky pulls him off. "Don't swallow," he rasps.

Kurt gives Karofsky a confused look. "I don't mind," he murmurs, licking Karofsky's cock and enjoying the way it jumps every time. "I like it, actually."

Karofsky looks like he's having trouble forming words but he manages to get out, "No, in your mouth. Just don't swallow."

"I...okay," Kurt says. He's still confused but more focused on getting back to his ministrations. Karofsky is so close that it only takes a few more minutes of Kurt deepthroating him before he feels an urgent tug on his hair and he pulls back enough so that Karofsky, with a protracted "Fuuuuuuuuck," comes in warm pulses on his tongue. Karofsky yanks at Kurt's shoulders, pulling him up, and kisses him fiercely, swirling his tongue through Kurt's mouth, tasting himself, sharing his come with Kurt in a way that's filthy and hot and weirdly, wonderfully intimate. Kurt gasps into Karofsky's mouth because this is something he's never tried before and now he's so hard he's sure he could come without even being touched. When Karofsky breaks the kiss they both have his come smeared across their lips and chins and Kurt thinks it might be the hottest thing he's ever experienced.

Karofsky gives him no time to think before he's got Kurt's dick in his hand and is stroking it in a way that's achingly familiar to that time five years earlier but more skilled, more assured. Karofsky turns them over so Kurt's on his back, then pulls Kurt's left leg up and over his shoulder. He strokes Kurt steadily, thumbing over the head of Kurt's cock and still making really effective use of that wrist trick that makes Kurt's eyes roll back in his head. He tries to focus because he wants to see this, wants to watch Karofsky, and he's glad he does because he gets to watch as Karofsky puts two fingers in his mouth and sucks, wetting them thoroughly, before he reaches between Kurt's legs and rubs over Kurt's hole. Kurt presses back, whimpering a little, and first one then the second finger slip into him. Karofsky pumps slowly in and out, matching the rhythm set by his other hand on Kurt's cock. He leans forward, stroking steadily, and kisses Kurt. The fingers inside Kurt crook to hit that sweet spot and, that does it, Kurt's coming so hard he feels some of it hit his hair.

"Oh my god," Kurt finally says, or at least he thinks he does. He's really not sure if he's speaking English, or any language known to man. "Oh my _god_." He rolls halfway over and sees that Karofsky is flat on his back on the floor next to him, panting just as heavily as Kurt is.

"Too fucking right," Karofsky agrees with conviction.

They lay there side by side, fingers entangled, trying to learn how to breathe again. After some time has passed, Kurt says, "I don't know about you but I'm famished."

Karofsky chuckles and nods. "Me too." He sits up with a groan and looks at Kurt. "I'll clean up in the kitchen, find something to eat. You take the bathroom. We'll meet back in the bedroom."

"You've got yourself a deal," Kurt replies. They climb to their feet and after a quick kiss, Karofsky disappears into the kitchen. Kurt looks at his scattered clothes and briefly wonders if he should get dressed, then shrugs. He feels completely comfortable being naked in Karofsky's apartment and he's not planning to go anywhere else tonight. He pads into the bathroom and finds a washcloth which he dampens under the faucet to wipe off the worst of the come and sweat and saliva. He shivers, a little cold now that he's not pressed against Karofsky's solid warmth, and he closes his eyes with pleasure when he gets into the bed and discovers the heated pad is already turned on.

He's just getting settled when Karofsky joins him, carrying a plate and two tumblers. "Bananas and...is that vanilla pudding?" Kurt asks, laughing.

Karofsky shrugs, handing the plate and one of the glasses to Kurt before getting in the bed. "I was out of strawberries and chocolate. But," he adds, waggling his cup. "I have the champagne. It was a gift when I resigned from the force."

Kurt takes a sip. "Mmm," he hums. "Not bad. So you decided to leave?"

"Yeah. Right after New Year's. I really couldn't see myself at a desk or even at the range."

"What will you do now?" Kurt bites into a banana slice, savoring how well the sweetness of the fruit goes with the champagne.

"I'm taking a couple of business classes at the community college and I've saved up enough so I don't need to worry about finding a new job right away. I want to explore my possibilities. I've got a good feeling about the future," he says with a smile full of so much sweetness Kurt has to lean over and kiss him.

They talk quietly, trading kisses in between sharing bites of banana and spoonfuls of pudding. When they finish Karofsky puts the empty plate and tumblers on the nightstand and turns out the light. Karofsky pulls Kurt close until he's half draped across Karofsky's chest, their legs tangling together. Karofsky traces circles on the small of Kurt's back and Kurt listens to the steady thump of Karofsky's heartbeat.

"You know," Karofsky muses, "you asked me if I liked you and I told you, but I never got to ask you. Do you like me?"

"What is this, seventh grade?" Kurt mocks gently.

"Just answer the damn question," Karofsky teases back.

Kurt thinks about all the different ways he could tell Karofsky how he feels, all melodramatic speeches full of rambling words of passion and romance. Instead he settles on something simple but truer. "I'm not in love with you," he says quietly. "But I could be."

Karofsky is silent for a while. Kurt is just beginning to think he went too far when Karofsky finally speaks, his arm tightening around Kurt. "Next year?"

"Hmmm," Kurt murmurs contentedly, cuddling closer. "Sooner, I think."


	10. Epilogue - White Wine

"A glass of your house white, please," Kurt orders once he's seated at the bar.

The bartender makes a face. "You sure you want that? It's swill. I can make you anything."

"I'm sure," Kurt smiles. "It's...I'm starting a tradition."

The bartender looks him up and down, then shrugs and turns to pour Kurt's drink. He slides it over and says, "I gotta ask, what kind of tradition involves drinking shitty wine?"

"You're kind of a terrible bartender," Kurt says acerbically. "Are you sure you're supposed to be talking about how bad the drinks are here?"

"It's just the house wine that sucks," the bartender replies with a nonchalant shrug. "The way I see it, anyone who drinks that stuff may never come back. Warning them is just good business."

"Oh, I see. Well," Kurt says, wriggling a little in his seat. "Eight years ago today my boyfriend and I had a chance encounter in this very same bar. I drank a glass of your white wine, which is completely nasty by the way and you really should serve something better. He's meeting me here soon but I got into town earlier than expected and I thought it would be nice to commemorate the occasion." He holds up the glass like he's making a toast, takes a sip, and grimaces.

The bartender laughs. "Eight years, huh? You've been together that long?"

Kurt shakes his head. "No, just nine months now. It's a long story." He smiles again.

"You should tell me about it when you have more time." The bartender leans over, resting his elbows on the bar. "So, boyfriend, huh?" He cocks an eyebrow.

Kurt bristles. "You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

"Not in the way you're thinking," the bartender replies, giving him another, slower look up and down that makes Kurt blush. "Just...the hot ones are always taken."

"Are you flirting with me?" Kurt gasps, outraged.

"Mmm-hmm," the bartender confirms suggestively. He leans even closer. "And now I'm going to kiss you."

Kurt gives him an affronted look. "My boyfriend's not going to like that. He's really big and strong and he used to be a cop. He knows how to hide a body."

"I think I can take him," the bartender says dismissively. He curls a hand around Kurt's neck and pulls him forward, halfway out of the seat, and kisses him deeply and thoroughly. Kurt submits with a happy sigh, kissing back just as enthusiastically. Distantly, he hears catcalls from the cluster of regulars down at the other end of the bar and he starts laughing. He pulls back and grins at Karofsky, whose eyes are dancing with mischief.

Kurt kisses him again, ignoring the second round of catcalls. When he sits back he says, "Hi. I've missed you."

"Missed you too," Karofsky replies. "How was the drive?"

"Typical. I tried not to speed but, as usual, I failed. No ticket this time, which is good because I'm pretty sure I've used up the 'my boyfriend used to be a cop' free pass."

"You could move back here," Karofsky says.

"And you could move to Cincinnati," Kurt retorts. It's an old argument, one they indulge in without any heat but simply because they enjoy bickering. Neither of them wants to move and it's only a two hour drive. They make it work, in the same way they make everything that's messy and imperfect about their relationship work. "Been working hard?" Kurt inquires.

Karofsky shrugs. "Some. Cole left the place in good order when he decided to retire and let me buy it. The books are pretty straightforward."

"Excellent," Kurt says. "Then if you're not busy it's time for you to call Alex out of the storage room and tell her you're heading home."

"That right?" Karofsky challenges.

Kurt nods. "Yes. It's Thanksgiving, Karofsky. I've had a good year." He leans forward and kisses his boyfriend slowly before pulling back. "And I plan to be very, _very_ thankful with you all over your apartment."


End file.
